


Here There Be Monsters

by Viari



Series: Enter the Foreign & related stories [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Brothers, Challenge Response, Gen, Introspection, One Shot, POV Jacen Solo, POV Original Character, Past Torture, Protective Siblings, Psychological Trauma, Seduction to the Dark Side, Twins, Vignette, before they were evil, super evil chaos twins of evil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28571415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viari/pseuds/Viari
Summary: Several months after earning a place among the Sith initiates, fourteen-year-old Dorian Starskip encounters monsters on the grave world of Korriban. One tries to eat him, one is possibly mentoring him, and a few just really hate his guts. Which of these is most to be feared?Alternate universe, 47 ABY, one-shot, introspection, angst, action, descent into darkness. POV original character & POV Jacen Solo.
Series: Enter the Foreign & related stories [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988521
Kudos: 5





	Here There Be Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place during the events of [The Lands of the Dead](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27230911). It starts up roughly half a year after Dorian’s first kill, which earned him a reprieve from the doctor’s prolonged and horrific experimentation on him and started him on the path of a Sith initiate.
> 
> Thanks to Gabri_Jade for her excellent advice and beta work!

* * *

  


Dorian Starskip is pretty sure he’s about to die. 

He holds onto the malfunctioning lightsaber – like an idiot, because it’s not doing him much good now, is it? – stumbling backward from the massive, long-tailed, four-legged creature that is bounding down the craggy cliff wall, all gnashing teeth and rippling muscles and sheer, unrestrained bloodlust. 

He really is an idiot, he thinks. He tries one more time to activate the lightsaber, but it only sparks a moment before letting out a hiss of smoke. He growls and throws the weapon at the advancing predator. It doesn’t even come close to striking the beast. 

_Definitely need to work on my aim,_ he notes a bit absently. 

He remembers how Neige passed out the training sabers, not even sparing him so much as a glance as he tossed the weapon across the room. Dorian should have realized something was off right then and there. Like all of the other Sith initiates, Neige has never once missed an opportunity to mock, belittle, or abuse him. The only thing that prevents him from going further is the fear of what Dorian’s twin brother might do to him. 

Well, no, that isn’t exactly true. There _is_ one more thing that keeps Neige and the other trainees at bay. 

Dorian reaches into his left sleeve and yanks out the crude blade concealed within. Not that it’ll do him much good against whatever the hell this monster is. He may be fairly well-acquainted with human and near-human anatomy by now, able to identify the quickest and most efficient ways to drain a person’s blood; but he has no idea what this thing is or what its weaknesses are. He’s not even sure it _has_ any weaknesses. 

_—but you have weaknesses, don’t you, and now you’re going to die—_

He throws up his hands to create a barrier in the Force, but he already knows it won’t last. His skills are so meager compared to the other initiates. It’s a wonder he’s lasted this long. He grits his teeth, straining to hold the invisible wall of energy, staring into the creature’s glowing eyes as it roars at him. Its jowls are dripping with saliva, chomping as if it already has him between its teeth. Its thick tail whips back and forth, slamming against the ground on either side of it. He only has a few more seconds, maybe half a minute at best. 

To think that he’s survived this long, only to become this disgusting creature’s next meal… it’s so ridiculous and unfair and _wrong_ , he can barely stand it. Too bad the mental wall he’s built up over the last few years won’t be of any use against this snarling, savage monster. He hopes his death won’t hurt his twin too much. Maybe if he keeps the wall up until the last second, it won’t be so bad. 

_I’m sorry, Veeran,_ he whispers across their bond before throwing his defenses back up. He’ll never know if his brother heard him. 

He feels the barrier shatter, and the creature lunges at him. He closes his eyes and holds the knife out in front of him, accepting his fate even if he still isn’t ready to enter the black. 

When he doesn’t feel those jagged teeth tear into him, when he notices the snarling has stopped and been replaced by a deep, rumbling purr, he opens his eyes to see what the hell just happened. 

A cloaked figure stands next to the beast, stroking a hand along its muzzle before trailing lightly across the spiky ridges of its spine. Then Dorian’s mysterious savior pats the creature’s flank and whispers something he can’t hear. The animal lowers its rear to the ground, tail curling around in front of it, and leans its head against the cloaked person’s chest, purring softly. 

Dorian is still trying to reconcile this docile, happy creature with the rampaging, bloodthirsty monster that was ready to devour him a moment ago, when his savior turns toward him and lowers the hood of his cloak. 

_Oh. That makes sense._

Darth Caedus stares down at him unblinking for a moment, then steps forward and reaches out a hand. Dorian shakes his head at the man before standing up on his own. 

“Where’s the rest of your team?” Caedus asks. 

_Nice to see you, too,_ Dorian almost mutters, before remembering who he’s talking to. Then he recalls how easily Caedus has picked up on his thoughts in the past, and he grits his teeth while averting his eyes. 

“Gone,” Dorian finally answers. “Ditched me as soon as we got into the mountains.” _Typical._

The disgraced Sith Lord nods slowly. “Where’s your brother? Veeran, was it?” 

Dorian looks up at Caedus, and he can’t help thinking that there’s no way the man needs help remembering Veeran’s name. He’s not sure _why_ he thinks that – it’s not like he and his twin are important in any way, shape, or form, especially not in the eyes of the man who once ruled the galaxy. 

That fact is still so strange to him. He, a skinny, talentless orphan kid – a worthless _nobody_ – is having a conversation with one of the most infamous people in existence. Even if the man is a shell of his former self, spending half of his days wandering the Korriban wilderness and the other half very unenthusiastically demonstrating his still-formidable fighting skills to a bunch of murderous teenagers. 

“He wasn’t assigned to a hunting team today,” Dorian answers quietly. 

Caedus nods and looks over his shoulder at the creature, which has stretched out its front legs to lay down. Its tail twitches a little as it closes its eyes and settles in for what looks like a nap. The barest hint of a smile crosses Caedus’s face before he returns his attention to Dorian. 

“What were you planning to do if I hadn’t shown up?” the man asks. 

_Die,_ he thinks. 

Caedus inclines his head just slightly toward him, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a faint, lopsided smirk. “You’re kind of a funny kid, aren’t you?” 

He feels the hollowness in his chest very acutely in that moment, but before he can answer, Caedus continues. 

“The tuk’ata guard the tombs, and they’re drawn to Force-sensitives. I’d steer clear, unless you actually do have a death wish.” 

_Amazing advice, thanks._

The Sith Lord levels him with an uncompromising stare, and then he sighs. 

“I’d almost forgotten what this was like,” he says. “Sarcasm and stubbornness. A formidable combination in a teenage boy.” He sounds almost… what’s the word? Wistful? Contemplative? “Though I suppose you needed to be stubborn in order to survive your ordeal with—” 

“Why are you helping me?” Dorian snaps, not really knowing why. He’s not angry, exactly, but he can feel an echo of that pressure building in his chest, the pressure that had only eased up when he stabbed the scalpel into that boy— 

“ _Am_ I helping you?” 

Caedus’s words tear him from the memory. Dorian blinks up at the man. “You just stopped me from getting eaten.” 

There’s something strange in Caedus’s expression as he folds his hands in front of him and stares down at Dorian. “And what significance do you attach to this?” 

“To what? To you helping me?” He thinks about the question a moment. He’s never pretended to know why Caedus does anything, let alone help him. “I don’t know. None?” 

The man laughs a little under his breath. “A wise answer, I think. Even if it’s not what you really believe.” 

Dorian blinks a couple of times. So Caedus is calling him a liar? 

_—but isn’t that what you are now, hiding a knife in your sleeve, hiding from what you’ve done, what you want to keep doing—_

He realizes he’s begun to absently rub at his chest. He quickly drops his hand to his side. The knife is still clenched tight in his other fist, and Caedus notices. 

“Put that away,” he says quietly, “and come here.” 

Dorian’s eyes go wide as he glances down at the resting tuk’ata. _No thanks, I’m good._

Caedus gives him a look of long-suffering before holding a hand out to beckon him. “You know I can make you.” 

Dorian raises one eyebrow, then slips the knife back into his sleeve. He steps forward slowly, eyes on the tuk’ata as he joins the Sith Lord next to it. 

“You can pet him, if you’d like. He’s calm for now.” 

Dorian can’t help the disgust on his face as he glances sideways at Caedus. _Why the hell would I want to do that?_ Even asleep, the tuk’ata looks no less than a monster. 

He suddenly wonders how long it’s been since he touched another living being without it ending in violence. He can’t remember. 

He feels a faint wispy _something_ at the edge of his consciousness, and he realizes Caedus probably felt all of that. Dorian looks away, staring hard at the sleeping animal. He reaches out a hand, just barely brushing along its flank. The tuk’ata shudders a little and lets out a noise that might pass for contentment. He pulls back quickly and looks up to find Caedus watching him. 

“Look at that,” the man says, as if to himself. “Even a creature twisted by Sith alchemy can know some measure of peace.” 

Something burns at the edges of Dorian’s vision. “For how long?” he says, his voice quiet. 

Caedus reaches out to stroke the creature along its spine. “Not long,” he replies, equally quiet. 

Dorian lowers his gaze and nods. Right. He’s not sure what he expected. 

He hears Caedus shift toward him. “You _can_ find peace within the darkness, Dorian Starskip.” 

The words of his instructors ring in his ears, chanting the code that has been drilled into him every day for the last several months. “Peace is a lie.” 

“Maybe. Perhaps I should say clarity, then. Or sanity.” 

Dorian feels his throat tighten. _Sanity._ That would be something, wouldn’t it? To feel like he isn’t constantly teetering on some invisible precipice, balancing against unseen objects or forces, always one step away from falling right off the edge. 

Dorian takes a step back. “I should go.” 

“Of course.” Caedus folds his arms under his cloak and looks in the direction of the fortress. “Head straight through the valley. You shouldn’t run into any more monsters today.” 

Dorian circles around the sleeping tuk’ata and begins his trek back toward the Sith fortress. He’s just climbing the ridge that will lead down into the valley when he hears Caedus call out behind him. 

“I told you once that the twin bond is strong. You shouldn’t be afraid to use it.” 

Dorian stops and looks over his shoulder. What can he say to that? How can he even start to explain? “It’s just easier this way.” 

“Easier?” Caedus shakes his head. “I doubt that. Simpler, maybe, but not easier.” 

His fingers twitch, closing into loose fists. “I would just hold him back.” 

“You closed yourself off for a reason, but that time is over. If you keep shutting him out, you’ll regret it.” 

Dorian thinks of that place inside him, that small part that has always been Veeran’s, even before he could put any kind of name to it. A cord connecting them from birth, from _before_ birth. The wall protects Veeran from Dorian’s pain, but it also divides them, fraying the threads that make up that cord. 

He looks up at Caedus, and the dull pressure in his chest flares, a burst of heat, like matter colliding in a swirl of gases and dust. Who is this man to lecture him? He killed his own twin sister. He _murdered_ her. 

“Exactly,” Caedus says, little more than a whisper. And even though Dorian still can’t feel the Sith Lord in the Force, he sees a flash of old pain cross his face. “If I hadn’t pushed her away, maybe—” 

He shakes his head and sighs, mouth pressed in a thin line. “It’s getting late. You should get going.” 

Dorian nods one last time before turning and climbing the rest of the way up the ridge. The Valley of the Dark Lords stretches out before him, bathed in long shadows as the sun begins its descent. Resisting the urge to sigh, he begins the long walk back to the fortress. 

  


* * *

  


The corridor nearest the training wing is quiet as Dorian enters it. He slips through the door, wincing a little at the creaking of the ancient durasteel as it slides shut behind him. He wonders what his punishment will be for being late and missing the evening meal. He’s pretty sure he can handle it, whatever it is. He thinks that’s one of the things that makes Neige and the others hate him so much, the fact that he’s never fazed by pain, no matter how brutal the beatings are or how sadistic their instructors try to be. 

It probably doesn’t help that Dorian killed Niege’s friend and took his place among the Sith initiates. But he doesn’t like thinking about that. 

There’s that pressure again, building slowly, a crushing weight dead center in his chest. It hurts, but there’s something satisfying about the sensation, and he doesn’t know what to make of that. In any case, it feels better than the gaping void that eats at him every other moment of every single day. 

A door slides open a few meters away, and Neige strolls into the corridor. His bone-white hair is damp with sweat, and his white eyes swivel in their sockets, landing on Dorian. At least, he thinks they do. The Arkanian boy doesn’t have pupils, so it’s kind of hard to tell. 

“Well, look what the tuk’ata _didn’t_ drag in,” Neige says, acid dripping from every syllable. “And without your brother there to rescue you, too. Aren’t you so lucky?” 

The older boy strides toward Dorian, then sidesteps just enough to knock his shoulder into him. Hard. The pressure in his chest— he feels it like he did that day in the fighting circle, and it needs to be released. 

Dorian slips the knife from his sleeve as Neige passes by him, and he grabs the boy roughly by the back of his head. He pulls Neige close, pressing the weapon’s jagged edge to his throat. “If I were you,” he whispers in the older boy’s ear, “I would stop worrying about Veeran so much. He’s not nearly subtle enough to get the job done before our masters intervene.” 

The Force crackles and sparks with rage. “And you think you _are_?” Neige replies in a low, dangerous voice. 

Dorian tugs on the boy’s hair, exposing more of his neck to the threat of the blade. “Wanna find out?” 

“You don’t scare me, Dorian.” 

“Scared or not, you’ll bleed out just the same.” For a few seconds, an image flashes before his eyes, of a little Jedi boy lying on the doctor’s table, a crimson pool expanding beneath him as his terrified, delirious eyes glazed over forever. Dorian remembers bile burning the back of his throat as he watched. “Everyone does,” he says. 

And in that moment, his entire body freezes, held in place by invisible bonds, unyielding as durasteel. A low chuckle from behind him as he senses two other initiates entering the corridor. 

“Ah, there you are, Dorian, we were so worried about you.” The voice belongs to Arjis, a member of the hunting team that had ditched him in the mountains. Then that must mean— 

“We thought you got eaten by the tuk’ata.” Mitya – the other member of his group – fakes a warble in her voice. “We would have been so sad.” 

Neige twists out of his grasp, turns, and punches Dorian in the jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground. The other trainees’ Force grip lifts, but now they’re surrounding him. Somehow, he’s still holding the knife. 

“I really thought that lightsaber would do the trick,” Neige says, shaking his head. “You’re a stubborn bastard, aren’t you?” 

Dorian wipes blood from the corner of his mouth and starts to stand, tightening his grip on the blade. _You have no ide—_

“You have no idea,” his thoughts are echoed out loud from the other end of the hallway, and he feels the slow creep of a smirk across his lips as Neige and Arjis twist abruptly to face the newcomer. 

“That’s my brother you’re screwing with,” Veeran says, looking simultaneously irritated and excited. “You think he’s just gonna roll over and die because you want him to?” 

Neige sneers at Veeran and draws himself up to full height. “I think I’m sick of _you_ acting like you’re king of the castle when you’re really just a weak little Jedi brat who can’t bear to let his precious brother die.” 

Veeran brings his hands together in front of his chest and cracks his knuckles. The sound echoes loud in the corridor, and Dorian feels a shiver of something through the invisible cord that connects them. Against his instincts, against everything he’s trained himself to do these last three-and-a-half years, he drops the mental wall around him. 

“Hey, Dorian,” his twin says, smiling. The thought rings out so loud in his head, it may as well have been shouted: _Duck._

Dorian throws himself to the ground as Veeran pummels the initiates with wave after wave of energy, so violent it throws all three of them through the air and slams them against the wall at the far end of the corridor. His brother is beside him in an instant, hauling him up by his shoulders. 

“Took you long enough,” Dorian mutters, rubbing his jaw. 

“I was eating,” Veeran snaps back. “You missed dinner, by the way.” 

Dorian lets his gaze travel over his brother. “You could stand to miss a meal, too, you know.” 

Veeran rolls his eyes and lifts his shirt enough to show off his abdomen. “It’s _muscle_ , idiot. Something _you_ could use a lot more of.” 

Dorian shakes his head, trying to frown, but he can’t quite fight the grin itching at his lips. “So hurtful.” He looks back at the pile of Sith trainees lying crumpled and unconscious on the stone floor. That pressure is still there, still building in his chest, in the place that normally aches from being so empty. The hand holding the knife twitches involuntarily. “What about them?” 

Veeran scoffs. “Who gives a damn about them? They won’t mess with us again, not for a long time, at least.” 

Dorian isn’t so sure. Arjis and Mitya are vicious, sniveling cowards most of the time, but Neige is still one of the strongest initiates. If he’s really gunning for Veeran’s place at the top of the pack… 

“Hey,” Veeran says, interrupting his thoughts. “It’s not about being the strongest. It’s about fighting your way to the top, no matter who or what’s in your way. We’ve both been doing that since we got here, more than any of them. And we’re going to keep fighting. We’ll outlast them all.” 

Dorian glances once more over his shoulder at the initiates who want him dead. “Survive,” he says quietly, rubbing his chest. 

“Exactly. You and me.” Veeran grins and punches him lightly in the shoulder. “They’ll never stop us.” 

Dorian nods. He thinks how easy it would be to walk over there, slide the blade into their necks, let them bleed out. Three more bodies for him to climb over. His own mountain of the dead. 

_—what kind of monster are you—_

“Forget them,” Veeran says, quieter now. Dorian notices how his brother’s gaze flits briefly to the knife. “There’s always next time.” 

_Maybe just Neige,_ he tells himself. _Maybe if the other two wake up in his blood, they’ll think twice before—_

“Dorian.” 

He takes a deep breath, then slides the knife into the makeshift sheath under his sleeve. “Yeah.” 

“Come on,” Veeran says, jerking his head in the direction of the barracks. “I saved you some food.” 

Dorian follows after his brother, glancing one last time at the Sith initiates lying unconscious on the floor. He’s suddenly reminded of a line from an old children’s fable, one he hasn’t thought of in ages, not since he was a kid in the academy on Ossus. 

_The only monster you need fear,_ he recites to himself, _is the one that lives inside you._

  


* * *

  


In the Valley of the Dark Lords, there is a man who was once a Sith. In those days, he went by a different name, a name he is still known by here, even if he no longer thinks of himself as that person. In truth, he’s not sure he ever really did. He was born Jacen Solo, and he will die Jacen Solo, and that hardly means the two are the same, for all that they inhabit the same body and love the same people. They call him Caedus here because he has never corrected them, and he never will. 

As Korriban’s harsh sun rises over the valley, Jacen Solo watches. 

In the distance, he sees the boy and his brother leaving the Sith fortress – probably without permission, if he has to guess. They hike through the valley before beginning a slow climb up one of the cliff walls. The same cliff where the boy encountered the tuk’ata the day before. 

_Well,_ he thinks, _this could end badly._

They reach the ridge where Jacen last saw the boy. It doesn’t take long for the tuk’ata to find them. Like he told the boy yesterday, peace doesn’t last long. 

The tuk’ata bounds down from high upon the cliff, snarling viciously as it spies these interlopers coming too close to the tomb it guards. The brother shouts an order, but Jacen can feel something else, a connection flaring up in the Force, not strong yet, but stable enough to link these twins together in mind and purpose. 

Their lightsabers activate at nearly the same moment, almost in sync. So they’ve stolen some weapons from the armory, too? He tries not to smile at the thought of old Lord Bellus hissing and seething once he realizes some of his inventory has gone missing. 

The boy and his brother fan out, one on either side of the tuk’ata. The creature whips its tail back and forth, trying to catch one of them with its spikes, but the twins are too far for it to reach. They take turns approaching the tuk’ata, pretending to attack, only to retreat while the other attempts to strike. 

And still, Jacen watches. 

The dance between hunter and hunted continues for several minutes, and then the moment finally comes. The brother lands a blow along the tuk’ata’s flank, and the animal roars in pain and fury. It spins around to face its attacker, but the brother is ready. He throws out his hands, grasping, holding the tuk’ata in place with the Force. “Now!” he yells. 

The boy is quick, running forward, then dropping one leg to slide between the animal’s front legs. He stabs upward, straight through the tuk’ata’s chest. He pulls out and stabs again, and again, and again; and as the creature’s legs starts to buckle, the brother grabs hold of his twin with the Force and yanks him out of the way. 

As the tuk’ata writhes in pain, Jacen notices the boy has drawn the knife he keeps hidden in his sleeve and is approaching the animal once more. It tries to lash out at him, teeth gnashing desperately at the air. Then its jaw snaps shut as the brother takes hold of it with his invisible grip. 

The boy kneels down next to the tuk’ata, reaching out with his free hand to run his fingers over the back of the creature’s skull. Then, finding the soft spot between skull and spine, he drives his knife in hard. The tuk’ata’s glowing eyes grow dim, and its head rolls to the side. 

Dead. 

Jacen feels a twinge of remorse. The creature never really had a choice, did it? It was only doing what it was bred to do. 

The boy collapses to the ground, exhausted, panting hard as he stares at the fallen tuk’ata. His brother comes up behind him and claps him hard on the back, his excitement pouring into the Force, bubbling up like magma through cracks in the earth. His laughter echoes in the valley. 

The boy drops his lightsaber and his knife on the ground, winding his fingers through his dark hair as he curls his knees up to his chest. Then he lowers his head, hiding his face, and his thin body begins to shake. There is no sound, only a brief flash of pain so raw and intense, it takes Jacen right back to those first endless hours, days, weeks – he still doesn’t even know how long it really was – spent hanging in the Embrace of Pain, trying to understand, to comprehend how he could live in a universe where Anakin no longer existed. 

The boy’s agony vanishes, snuffed out by the wall he erects around himself. Jacen remembers that feeling, too. Closing himself off from Jaina, afraid to let her feel his suffering as he hung there, receiving an education in torment unlike any he’d ever known. 

The valley goes quiet as the boy’s brother watches him, suddenly unsure what he should do. Even though the wall separates them, the boy is still shaking, knuckles white as he grabs at his head, curled up in a small, pathetic ball. Jacen wonders if he’s imagining the scream that sticks in the boy’s throat. 

His brother takes a step toward him, reaching out for a moment before pulling back. Finally, he sits down near the boy, not quite next to him, but close enough for his presence to be felt; and he waits. 

After a few minutes, the boy emerges from himself, and he stands. There are no tears in his bloodshot eyes. He turns and begins to walk away. His brother reaches over and grabs the weapons his twin left on the ground, then he scrambles to catch up with him. 

“Dorian, wait up!” he calls out. The boy slows and looks over his shoulder, expression neutral. His brother holds out the lightsaber and the knife for him to take. 

Quietly, carefully, Jacen Solo watches. 

The boy draws in a long, deep breath, as if it’s the last breath he ever expects to take. He takes the weapons from his brother’s hands, hooking the lightsaber to his belt and wiping blood from the knife before slipping it back into his sleeve. Then he turns toward the ridge and begins his slow descent into the valley. 

* * *

**_Fin_ **


End file.
